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The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
"I do not know what I have done to be so severely tried," said he.
"Only two days ago I was a happy and prosperous man, without a care in
the world. Now I am left to a lonely and dishonoured age. One sorrow
comes close upon the heels of another. My niece, Mary, has deserted
me."
"Deserted you?"
"Yes. Her bed this morning had not been slept in, her room was empty,
and a note for me lay upon the hall table. I had said to her last
night, in sorrow and not in anger, that if she had married my boy all
might have been well with him. Perhaps it was thoughtless of me to say
so. It is to that remark that she refers in this note:
"'MY DEAREST UNCLE:--I feel that I have brought trouble upon you, and
that if I had acted differently this terrible misfortune might never
have occurred. I cannot, with this thought in my mind, ever again be
happy under your roof, and I feel that I must leave you forever. Do
not worry about my future, for that is provided for; and, above all,
do not search for me, for it will be fruitless labour and an
ill-service to me. In life or in death, I am ever your loving,--MARY.'
"What could she mean by that note, Mr. Holmes? Do you think it points
to suicide?"
"No, no, nothing of the kind. It is perhaps the best possible
solution. I trust, Mr. Holder, that you are nearing the end of your
troubles."
"Ha! You say so! You have heard something, Mr. Holmes; you have
learned something! Where are the gems?"
"You would not think 1000 pounds apiece an excessive sum for them?"
"I would pay ten."
"That would be unnecessary. Three thousand will cover the matter. And
there is a little reward, I fancy. Have you your check-book? Here is a
pen. Better make it out for 4000 pounds."
With a dazed face the banker made out the required check. Holmes
walked over to his desk, took out a little triangular piece of gold
with three gems in it, and threw it down upon the table.
With a shriek of joy our client clutched it up.
"You have it!" he gasped. "I am saved! I am saved!"
The reaction of joy was as passionate as his grief had been, and he
hugged his recovered gems to his bosom.
"There is one other thing you owe, Mr. Holder," said Sherlock Holmes
rather sternly.
"Owe!" He caught up a pen. "Name the sum, and I will pay it."
"No, the debt is not to me. You owe a very humble apology to that
noble lad, your son, who has carried himself in this matter as I
should be proud to see my own son do, should I ever chance to have
one."
"Then it was not Arthur who took them?"
"I told you yesterday, and I repeat to-day, that it was not."
"You are sure of it! Then let us hurry to him at once to let him know
that the truth is known."
"He knows it already. When I had cleared it all up I had an interview
with him, and finding that he would not tell me the story, I told it
to him, on which he had to confess that I was right and to add the
very few details which were not yet quite clear to me. Your news of
this morning, however, may open his lips."
"For heaven's sake, tell me, then, what is this extraordinary
mystery!"
"I will do so, and I will show you the steps by which I reached it.
And let me say to you, first, that which it is hardest for me to say
and for you to hear: there has been an understanding between Sir
George Burnwell and your niece Mary. They have now fled together."
"My Mary? Impossible!"
"It is unfortunately more than possible; it is certain. Neither you
nor your son knew the true character of this man when you admitted him
into your family circle. He is one of the most dangerous men in
England--a ruined gambler, an absolutely desperate villain, a man
without heart or conscience. Your niece knew nothing of such men. When
he breathed his vows to her, as he had done to a hundred before her,
she flattered herself that she alone had touched his heart. The devil
knows best what he said, but at least she became his tool and was in
the habit of seeing him nearly every evening."
"I cannot, and I will not, believe it!" cried the banker with an ashen
face.
"I will tell you, then, what occurred in your house last night. Your
niece, when you had, as she thought, gone to your room, slipped down
and talked to her lover through the window which leads into the stable
lane. His footmarks had pressed right through the snow, so long had he
stood there. She told him of the coronet. His wicked lust for gold
kindled at the news, and he bent her to his will. I have no doubt that
she loved you, but there are women in whom the love of a lover
extinguishes all other loves, and I think that she must have been one.
She had hardly listened to his instructions when she saw you coming
downstairs, on which she closed the window rapidly and told you about
one of the servants' escapade with her wooden-legged lover, which was
all perfectly true.
"Your boy, Arthur, went to bed after his interview with you but he
slept badly on account of his uneasiness about his club debts. In the
middle of the night he heard a soft tread pass his door, so he rose
and, looking out, was surprised to see his cousin walking very
stealthily along the passage until she disappeared into your
dressing-room. Petrified with astonishment, the lad slipped on some
clothes and waited there in the dark to see what would come of this
strange affair. Presently she emerged from the room again, and in the
light of the passage-lamp your son saw that she carried the precious
coronet in her hands. She passed down the stairs, and he, thrilling
with horror, ran along and slipped behind the curtain near your door,
whence he could see what passed in the hall beneath. He saw her
stealthily open the window, hand out the coronet to someone in the
gloom, and then closing it once more hurry back to her room, passing
quite close to where he stood hid behind the curtain.
"As long as she was on the scene he could not take any action without
a horrible exposure of the woman whom he loved. But the instant that
she was gone he realised how crushing a misfortune this would be for
you, and how all-important it was to set it right. He rushed down,
just as he was, in his bare feet, opened the window, sprang out into
the snow, and ran down the lane, where he could see a dark figure in
the moonlight. Sir George Burnwell tried to get away, but Arthur
caught him, and there was a struggle between them, your lad tugging at
one side of the coronet, and his opponent at the other. In the
scuffle, your son struck Sir George and cut him over the eye. Then
something suddenly snapped, and your son, finding that he had the
coronet in his hands, rushed back, closed the window, ascended to your
room, and had just observed that the coronet had been twisted in the
struggle and was endeavouring to straighten it when you appeared upon
the scene."
"Is it possible?" gasped the banker.
"You then roused his anger by calling him names at a moment when he
felt that he had deserved your warmest thanks. He could not explain
the true state of affairs without betraying one who certainly deserved
little enough consideration at his hands. He took the more chivalrous
view, however, and preserved her secret."
"And that was why she shrieked and fainted when she saw the coronet,"
cried Mr. Holder. "Oh, my God! what a blind fool I have been! And his
asking to be allowed to go out for five minutes! The dear fellow
wanted to see if the missing piece were at the scene of the struggle.
How cruelly I have misjudged him!"
"When I arrived at the house," continued Holmes, "I at once went very
carefully round it to observe if there were any traces in the snow
which might help me. I knew that none had fallen since the evening
before, and also that there had been a strong frost to preserve
impressions. I passed along the tradesmen's path, but found it all
trampled down and indistinguishable. Just beyond it, however, at the
far side of the kitchen door, a woman had stood and talked with a man,
whose round impressions on one side showed that he had a wooden leg. I
could even tell that they had been disturbed, for the woman had run
back swiftly to the door, as was shown by the deep toe and light heel
marks, while Wooden-leg had waited a little, and then had gone away. I
thought at the time that this might be the maid and her sweetheart, of
whom you had already spoken to me, and inquiry showed it was so. I
passed round the garden without seeing anything more than random
tracks, which I took to be the police; but when I got into the stable
lane a very long and complex story was written in the snow in front of
me.
"There was a double line of tracks of a booted man, and a second
double line which I saw with delight belonged to a man with naked
feet. I was at once convinced from what you had told me that the
latter was your son. The first had walked both ways, but the other had
run swiftly, and as his tread was marked in places over the depression
of the boot, it was obvious that he had passed after the other. I
followed them up and found they led to the hall window, where Boots
had worn all the snow away while waiting. Then I walked to the other
end, which was a hundred yards or more down the lane. I saw where
Boots had faced round, where the snow was cut up as though there had
been a struggle, and, finally, where a few drops of blood had fallen,
to show me that I was not mistaken. Boots had then run down the lane,
and another little smudge of blood showed that it was he who had been
hurt. When he came to the highroad at the other end, I found that the
pavement had been cleared, so there was an end to that clue.
"On entering the house, however, I examined, as you remember, the sill
and framework of the hall window with my lens, and I could at once see
that someone had passed out. I could distinguish the outline of an
instep where the wet foot had been placed in coming in. I was then
beginning to be able to form an opinion as to what had occurred. A man
had waited outside the window; someone had brought the gems; the deed
had been overseen by your son; he had pursued the thief; had struggled
with him; they had each tugged at the coronet, their united strength
causing injuries which neither alone could have effected. He had
returned with the prize, but had left a fragment in the grasp of his
opponent. So far I was clear. The question now was, who was the man
and who was it brought him the coronet?
"It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the
impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
Now, I knew that it was not you who had brought it down, so there only
remained your niece and the maids. But if it were the maids, why
should your son allow himself to be accused in their place? There
could be no possible reason. As he loved his cousin, however, there
was an excellent explanation why he should retain her secret--the more
so as the secret was a disgraceful one. When I remembered that you had
seen her at that window, and how she had fainted on seeing the coronet
again, my conjecture became a certainty.
"And who could it be who was her confederate? A lover evidently, for
who else could outweigh the love and gratitude which she must feel to
you? I knew that you went out little, and that your circle of friends
was a very limited one. But among them was Sir George Burnwell. I had
heard of him before as being a man of evil reputation among women. It
must have been he who wore those boots and retained the missing gems.
Even though he knew that Arthur had discovered him, he might still
flatter himself that he was safe, for the lad could not say a word
without compromising his own family.
"Well, your own good sense will suggest what measures I took next. I
went in the shape of a loafer to Sir George's house, managed to pick
up an acquaintance with his valet, learned that his master had cut his
head the night before, and, finally, at the expense of six shillings,
made all sure by buying a pair of his cast-off shoes. With these I
journeyed down to Streatham and saw that they exactly fitted the
tracks."
"I saw an ill-dressed vagabond in the lane yesterday evening," said
Mr. Holder.
"Precisely. It was I. I found that I had my man, so I came home and
changed my clothes. It was a delicate part which I had to play then,
for I saw that a prosecution must be avoided to avert scandal, and I
knew that so astute a villain would see that our hands were tied in
the matter. I went and saw him. At first, of course, he denied
everything. But when I gave him every particular that had occurred, he
tried to bluster and took down a life-preserver from the wall. I knew
my man, however, and I clapped a pistol to his head before he could
strike. Then he became a little more reasonable. I told him that we
would give him a price for the stones he held--1000 pounds apiece.
That brought out the first signs of grief that he had shown. 'Why,
dash it all!' said he, 'I've let them go at six hundred for the
three!' I soon managed to get the address of the receiver who had
them, on promising him that there would be no prosecution. Off I set
to him, and after much chaffering I got our stones at 1000 pounds
apiece. Then I looked in upon your son, told him that all was right,
and eventually got to my bed about two o'clock, after what I may call
a really hard day's work."
"A day which has saved England from a great public scandal," said the
banker, rising. "Sir, I cannot find words to thank you, but you shall
not find me ungrateful for what you have done. Your skill has indeed
exceeded all that I have heard of it. And now I must fly to my dear
boy to apologise to him for the wrong which I have done him. As to
what you tell me of poor Mary, it goes to my very heart. Not even your
skill can inform me where she is now."
"I think that we may safely say," returned Holmes, "that she is
wherever Sir George Burnwell is. It is equally certain, too, that
whatever her sins are, they will soon receive a more than sufficient
punishment."